


don't put dirt on my grave just yet

by ariadne_odair



Series: Walk Through Hell With A Smile [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, BAMF Natasha Romanov, BAMF Sam Wilson, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Crying, Deception, F/M, I will probably cry, Lies, Nightmares, Stephanie Rogers - Freeform, anst, everything's a shit show to be honest, look at all the depressing tags, stevie just wins all the prizes, this is the big one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1731308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadne_odair/pseuds/ariadne_odair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Rumlow's looking at me like I'm a piece of meat," Stevie says, barely a whisper. She's adjusting her ear piece, fiddling with the wires, and Natasha nods wordlessly.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>"Want me to garrison him?" Natasha asks pleasantly, fitting her cuffs to her suit. They electrocute people. Stevie really wants some in blue.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <b> like a drum baby / don't stop beating / I'll love you long after you're gone </b></p><p>ON HIATUS INDEFINITELY</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolouge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From what I've tasted of desire  
> I hold with those who favor fire.  
> But if it had to perish twice,  
> I think I know enough of hate  
> To say that for destruction ice  
> Is also great  
> And would suffice. 
> 
> Robert Frost

There's blood in her mouth.

She can taste it, coppery and metallic, acidic at the back of her throat. It matches the wound in her side, crimson smeared over her teeth. Her left eye is bruised, a deep maroon, the same colour as her suit, making her pale hair dim in contrast. It's as if she's a macabre version of the very flag she stands for, blue and red and white bleeding together.

Stevie spits out the blood.

The sky is burning.

Stevie can see flashes of fire through her vision, the raging flame of destroyed metal, the ravished materials made by man’s hand, plummeting through the sky. It smells like blood, the sickly metal tang, and she's aware it's coming from her, from the wound in her skin that was ripped open by a metal hand.

He's bleeding too, though. The final sacrifice to save the world again.

“You know, Bucky,” she says, voice as rough as sandpaper, scrubbed raw, “We got to stop getting ourselves into this situation. Crashing a ship into the sea isn't what it was ninety years ago.”

“I'm not Bucky.”

He's standing by her, foot an inch from her head. He has blood running down his face. Red, the colour of the star on his arm. Red, the colour of the stripes on her uniform. Red, the glint of fire in the sunlight as she falls to her death.

Again. Because she's consistent like that.

“Are you scared?” she asks, and the Winter Soldier flinches. He looks young without the mask, which is a fucking stupid thing to think.

“I'm not,” she says, and lets her head rest against the cool metal of the ship. She’s not scared, not really. She died, ninety years ago. Ghosts have a funny way of coming back, and she has nothing left to haunt. 

“You loved me,” Stevie says, and her lips feel cracked. She runs her tongue over them, wetting them, and the Winter Soldier tracks the movement with dead eyes.

“I think he did,” the Winter Soldier says softly. She snorts. Her ribs hurt.

“Oh, I know he did.”

The Winter soldier doesn't say anything.

“If you're going to kill me, you should do it now,” Stevie says, because she's nothing if not helpful. She closes her eyes, lights dancing behind them. “Or you should probably get out. This ship's going to crash soon.” She smirks. “Haven't we both done our fair share of falling?”

Something cold touches her face. It's not metal, it's human, a hand tracing the curve of her cheek. The moment is fleeting, the caress momentary. She's not even sure if it happened at all. She exhales.

Stevie falls.


	2. I just want to be okay (be okay, be okay)

_The streets are littered with broken glass, debris, remains of vehicles, a haunted maze that Stevie has to find her way through, if she has any chance of getting through to the rest of the team. She can hear the chitauri, their screaming and chattering as they zoom past, heading for further destruction. There's a thump behind her, and she turns, breath caught in her throat._ _A chitauri has landed, its back to her, and she freezes, raising her shield. The chitauri turns. It's Bucky._

_"You can't save all of us," he says softly, voice barely carrying across the square. His clothes are torn, face bloody. Stevie's body begins to tremor. "You have to choose."_

_"Bucky," she gasps, and it feels like there's a hand at her throat, squeezing and squeezing until she's dizzy, "I - "_

_She stumbles forward, hands held out, and the street explodes. Fire washes over her in waves, the acrid smell of burning, the pain of the flames -_

 

"WHO'S STRONG AND BRAVE, HERE TO SAVE THE AMERICAN WAY?"

 

There are a number of things Stephanie Rogers would like to wake up to. The sound of birds tweeting. A nice cup of coffee. Rays of light on what promises to be a sunny day. Not, the song she used to have to _cheer lead_ to, whilst dressed in a tiara and mini-skirt. Do you know how uncomfortable garters are? Yeah, neither did Stevie until  _she had to wear them._

Groaning, she rolls over, reaching blindly for the phone on her table, pressing the answer button. "You're an utter punk, did you know that?"

"Hey, that's no way for America's golden girl to speak," Stiles chastises down the phone, and she can practically hear his smirk, "Where's the kind and welcoming manner?"

"Still asleep, because it's four in the morning."

"Oh, I didn't realise you were three hours behind in Washington," Stiles says, astonished, then ruins it by cracking up laughing. It's really not that funny - Stiles has done this every day for the past month, ever since Stevie moved to Washington. 

"You're not funny," Stevie says flatly, rubbing her eyes with her fist. 

"Sure I'm not," Stiles says blithely, "Besides, I know you're going for a run in, like half an hour. Have you made any friends yet? And by friends I mean  _people._ Not old ladies you helped across the street. Not the creepy groupies with Captain America pyjamas - "

"Stiles, _you_ have Captain America pyjamas," Stevie cuts in, "In fact, I bet you're wearing them now."

There's a too long pause, then Stiles says stiffly, "You can't prove anything," which proves  _everything,_ and Stevie cracks up. 

"Besides, I have friends," Stevie protests, rolling over onto her side, "What are you calling them this week? The 'Bad Ass Sharma crew' wasn't it?"

"No, it's Avengers Anonymous this week. A safe environment for all superheroes to receive the support they need."

Stevie rolls her eyes. "Right. Except it won't be exactly anonymous, seeing as we saved New York from an alien invasion. One that was filmed on numerous camera phones, and instigated thousands of conspiracy programmes."

"Did you know there's Captain America underwear?" Stiles says dreamily, and Stevie face palms, "It's called 'Virtues of the Flag', and all the underwear is red, white and blue."

"If you buy me that underwear I will kill you."

"For you? I'm buying for myself! I can totally pull off patriotic panties."

"You're such an idiot," Stevie says, but she can't quite hide the affection in her voice.

"So, how did you sleep?" Stiles asks, all too casually.

"Like a log," Stevie says automatically, then changes the subject. "How's work?"

It's not that she doesn't trust Stiles, which. Okay, so she doesn't really trust anyone, but her levels of suspicion towards him are in the lower end of the scale. He was the first normal person she met when she woke up, and she misses the dorky waiter from New York. New York itself, less so. Living there was just a constant slap in the face, look, this is what you used to have, this is what you used to be, this is what you'll never have again.

Washington is new. Washington is good. At least she doesn't run into old ghosts on every corner, and Stevie doesn't even have that many people left to haunt her. 

"Awesome as ever," Stiles sighs happily, "But then again, it is an internship at _Stark Industries._ As if it was ever going to be anything less than awesome."

Stevie smiles at that; she's not even sure what Stiles does at SI, but Tony must have seen something in him, because he snatched Stiles up pretty fast. Stevie's grateful, really - she and Tony might not be best friends, but at least Stiles has someone to look after him. And by someone she means Pepper. Who works for Tony, so, almost there.

"Hey, I was thinking," Stiles says, "If you become the president, can I be your First Man? Is that how it works? I'll hit up Clinton, ask her what her plans were. Ha, I could be like your housewife."

Stevie snorts. "I pretty sure that's borderline sexist."

Stiles also won't stop making cracks about Washington; asking her is she'll apply for a job at the pentagon, when her first season's going to be. 

"Please, as if being Captain America's housewife would be an issue. It'd be an achievement for equality everywhere. Stiles Stilinski: not afraid to give up the reigns."

"So I'm a horse now?"

"Yes, but a very pretty one. A unicorn."

"Thanks," Stevie says sarcastically, "Not that this isn't enlightening, but I'm going for a run now. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Be sociable," Stiles says immediately, "Smile at people. Wear the sports bra I got you - "

"Goodbye, Stiles," Stevie laughs, and hangs up. She smiles at the phone for a second, before pushing up from the bed. She makes the bed carefully, tucking in the corners. She shudders as she brushes away the cobwebs of the nightmare, forcing her mind to focus. She pulls on some sweats and a shirt, plus a pair of blue trainers.

Her flat is simple, but she likes it. She has a book case full of books to read - she downloads a list of 100 books to read before you die, and she's been working her way through them. Everything is painted in pale colours - the kitchen is sky blue, the bathroom lilac. Her hall is white. She likes the simplicity, the clarity of the light shades. It grounds her, brings her back to the present.

She exits her flat, then heads down the stairs. It's light out, the sky streaked with pale rose and amber. The sun's barely peaking out of the clouds, but she can just feel the heat of it tickle the back of her neck. She starts off steady, heading for the mall. It's where she normally runs - she can play tourist whilst burning some energy. 

There’s a guy running ahead of her when she runs past good ol’ Abe. This is the third time she’s seen him on this running path, closely cropped hair, dark skin. He’s a soldier, she can tell that even without seeing the crest on his shirt. He runs like one, the precise symmetrical stride of someone’s who’s had military training.

He’s usually out at the same time as her, he’s a regular Monday - Sunday. It’s not like she makes a habit of talking to strangers, but Stiles' words keep running through her head.

“On your left.”

The guy shoots her a look, but Stevie’s already past him. She hear the guy’s huff of exasperation, and laughs. She gets her phone out of her pocket - a Nokia, she didn't trust Tony’s newest model not to be bugged - and dials Stiles.

“I made a friend.”

“Oh, really?” Stiles says through the line, “I made pancakes. I win.”

Stevie runs past the guy again - phone pressed to her ear - and the guy scowls at her. “Really? And you’re on the phone, too?”

“On your left,” Stevie says simply, and keeps running.

“Wait,” Stiles says slowly, “There actually is a guy? I was only joking, sheesh - “

"Yes, there actually is a guy," Stevie huffs, insulted. She speeds up without noticing it, and she's closing to lapping the guy again before she even realises.

"Are you being safe?" Stiles asks, "Do I need to have the talk with you? You can't cash or cheque like the forties - "

"Bye, Stiles," Stevie says simply, and hangs up. "On your left."

The guy swears, but Stevie just laugh, speeding away. She likes running, it brings her such a high. As if everything time she lifts her feet, she's lifting her spirits as well. Stiles teases her about it, because ' _Only Captain America could get off on exercise, jeez.'_ But it's more than that. When she's running, she doesn't feel too big or too small. Her limbs don't feel awkward, they feel smooth, practised. Like they were meant for this.

Even in this time - with the beeping of car horns, the barking of dogs, people talking on their phones, it's normal. Well, normalish. As normal as her life gets. Which isn't very normal. Whatever. Normal is relative anyway. When you spend your life fighting Gods and monsters, you don't have much room to generalise.

The guy's slumped at the edge of the tree by the time Stevie's finished her laps. He's breathing heavily, but he's smiling. He takes Stevie aback, to be honest. It's not like she's usually around cheerful people - actually, pretty much her whole life has been a series of dangerous situations, with not much to laugh about. Or, you know. People were dying. Appropriateness and all that.

"You finished?" the guy asks, voice a slow, amused drawl, "That's disgraceful. I kicked your butt. You should do another ten laps. Go on, go."

"I'm disgraceful?" Stevie snorts, crossing her arms, "You call that running? That was like - extended  _walking._ You barely moved your feet."

"That's because my feet aren't genetically enhanced," the guys says, rolling his eyes, "You got rockets embedded in there, or something?"

"Turbo jets."

"Ah, makes sense." The guy laughs, offering a hand. "Sam Wilson. Air force. Pararescue division. Two tours." 

Stevie shakes his hand. "Stephanie Rogers."

"I know who you are," Sam smiles, shaking his head, "Saw you splashed all over the news a month ago. You know, there used to be a pin up poster of you in our barracks. Like, one of the 1940 style ones, all bright colours and pouty lips."

"How bad is it that I'm not even surprised."

"Why, do lots of people has pin ups of you?"

"Well, they've brought out Captain America lingerie, so. Beyond astonished."

"Well, we didn't have  _that_ in the barracks."

Sam laughs again, getting up and brushing the grass off his knees. "It must be weird for you, waking up now. Everything's different, huh?"

"Well," Stevie says slowly, considering it, "It's not too bad. They cured polio. Free contraception. Sports bras."

"Sports bras?"

"Oh yeah, so helpful."

Sam laughs again, and Stevie smiles. "Check out any Aretha Franklin CD.  _Think. Respect._ I think you'll especially like  _The Sister's are doing it for themselves.'"_

"I'll look it up," Stevie smiles, "I'll have it as my running music."

Sam snorts, rolling his eyes. "Is that supposed to be funny? That is not funny."

"Well, it was nice to meet you." She gives a little wave, about to go, but Sam's voice calls her back.

"It's your clothes, isn't it?"

"Excuse me?"

Sam gives her a wry smile, biting his bottom lip. "Your  _clothes._ When you're in the army, you get a uniform, right? And I was desert based, so. Sandy brown. Coffee stained. Beige. Black and white, chocolate chip rock spots. You fit  _in,_ you're as much as part of the scenery as you are part of a troop. And you have all your gear, my rucksack, my weapon, my equipment. This steady, relentless weight."

Sam swallows, looking away. "And then you come back home. And all you have is civilian clothes. Jeans. Shirts. And they're not covered in sand, or dust, or - "

"Or blood," Stevie finishes quietly. She glances down at the ground. "Just fabric. Simple. Plain. I don't even know what  _shirt_ to choose, there's some many types, and I - I'm used to one uniform, one fit - I can't - "

She breaks off, throat tight. Sam chews his bottom lip, nodding slowly, the moment mute and soft between them. Stevie opens her mouth to say something, when a car beeps. Stevie turns to look, one hand up to shield her eyes from the sun. The car beeps again, the driver rolling down the window.

"I'm a little lost, can anyone direct me to Broadway? I've lost a chorus girl."

Sam stares. "Who's that?"

Stevie sighs. "That's the Black Widow."


	3. Chapter 3

"You can't dangle helpless victims in front of me like a carrot."

Natasha blinks at her, sliding her sunglasses down over her nose. She looks like a covermodel. It's hot in the car, sun shining through the window, and Stevie's sweaty from the workout.

Essentially, she feels like a beat up tank next to a sports car, which isn't fun for anyone.

"Awe, come on," Natasha chides. "You're not a donkey. You're not even horselike. Don't put yourself down."

"No, I'm a chorus girl, aren't I?" Stevie says, and scowls when Natasha's lips curl into a smirk. "You see, this is the time when you apologise."

"I never apologise," Natasha shrugs. Stevie doubts she ever has to; her faults are the type that don't involve a sorry. "The suit's at yours, right?"

"Yep," Stevie says, "and no, SHIELD can't have it."

"I wasn't even - "

"You were going to."

"So pessimistic."

"So  _realistic."_

Natasha does crack a laugh at that. It doesn't feel like she's laughing at Stevie for once, which is a nice thing. Natasha has this effortless elegance about her that throws Stevie off. Stevie stills trips, still fumbles, but Natasha glides and never misses a catch.

She does like her, though. She thinks. They work well as a team, so. Even if she isn't starting to feel like Fury's janitor. She'd sworn she wouldn't have anything to do with SHIELD, and she doesn't, but she can't exactly refuse when they serve up their latest round of casualties.

She feels like she's being played, and she doesn't like it, sharp fury bristling behind her breastbone like a trapped bird. "So what's Fury done this time?"

She can't see Natasha's eyes behind the glasses. "You're going to love this one, Cap."

Stevie grits her teeth. "I don't doubt it."

 

 

 

She doesn't really like planes, doesn't have an affinity for anything that leaves the Earth's surface and threatens to never return. She has too many bad memories of planes, too many old ghosts littered around, and it makes her breath catch in her throat at the first vibration.

But she hates bone headed men _more._

"Rumlow's looking at me like I'm a piece of meat," Stevie says, barely a whisper. She adjusting her ear piece, fiddling with the wires, and Natasha nods wordlessly.

"Want me to garrison him?" Natasha says pleasantly, fitting her cuffs to her suit. They electrocute people. Stevie really wants some in blue. "Or we could hold off till after work, call Hill. I know she'd want to help."

"He's a jerk to her as well?" Stevie sighs, sliding her shield into place. It clicks, and Stevie runs her hands down her suit. It's darker, a deeper blue, with stark white lines. It's the one thing SHIELD's given her she actually does like, so naturally she pretends she hates it. "Isn't Hill good with bombs? We could give that a go."

"Let's just blame Stark," Natasha says, voice steady but hints of amusement colouring her tone. "Say it was a prototype that went wrong."

"That happened to look like us three?"

Natasha shrugs. "Say it was a sex robot."

"Ew, Tasha."

"Whatever," Natasha sighs, strapping two guns to her hips. Stevie knows for a fact she has at least three more concealed on her person, along with two knives and a grenade that Stevie never ever asks the location of. "You're up, Cap."

Stevie slides the mask down, hiding her eyes, and turns to Rumlow to get the logistics. It's dark in the helicarrier, shadows licking over the walls as Rumlow sets out the plan. It seems pretty clear at first, compromised ship in foreign waters, multiple hostages, potential to get nasty considering the arms they've got. She asks to see the hostage list, eyes flicking over the names, when she stops on one.

"Sitwell?" she says tightly, "why is Sitwell on there? Isn't he intelligence? He shouldn't be in the field."

She's met with a round of dropped eyes, apart from Rumlow's (looking at her ass again), and Natasha (clear, unblinking, a little pitying which makes Stevie clench her fist).

"The ship's dirty, isn't it?" she snaps, "Christ, you reckon Fury could hire someone else to clear up his messes? Thanks, Tasha, thanks for that in depth heads up."

"Come on," Natasha frowns, hand idly dancing over her belt. "Relax, it's not like it's unneeded, there's hostages at stake - "

"Yeah, and who put them there?" Stevie asks, flatly, and she sees Natasha flinch. Any closeness they had breaks; it doesn't smash, it crumbles pathetically, corners breaking and falling away. "Let's just do this."

She jumps out of the plane. It's probably more dramatic than slamming a door, but Stevie feels like her point has been made.

 

 

 

Despite some serious improvements in women's rights, men still seem to think a girl in a tight suit is nothing to worry about, so Stevie doesn't hit any major blockages on the way to the engine room. She gives up with Natasha after the third silence - and fifth punch - contacting Rumlow instead, though it makes her head hurt to do it. One guy is actually quite good, getting a decent amount of wallops in, until Stevie kicks him in the jaw and hears a crack.

She finds Natasha in the control room, heart beating like a jack rabbit. She shouldn't have worried, Natasha is bent over an array of technology, body perfectly curved, one eyebrow raised. Stevie has blood running down her face, a bruise the size of her fist blooming on her cheekbone, and her hair's tinged in red. Again, truck - sports car.

"What are you doing?" Stevie asks suspiciously, "don't - Tasha, don't you dare flutter those eyelashes at me, you're weren't answering your com, what are you _doing?"_

Natasha's removing some kind of memory stick, fingers flying over the keys, clicking in a satisfied sort of way. "Completing my mission."

"What mission?" Stevie asks, eyes flitting to the great glass windows, scanning for movement. She turns back and Natasha's pulled the stick out, holding it tightly in her palm and shutting down the rest of the system. "Our mission was to save the hostages - "

"No, that was your mission," Natasha corrects silkily, and a burst of frustration makes Stevie grab Natasha's arm. She curls her fingers around, not hard enough to hurt but tights enough to squeeze. Natasha can take it, as she's constantly reminding her.

"What game are you playing?" Stevie snarls, "who's side are you on, people could've _died - "_

"But they _didn't,"_ Natasha says simply, as if that makes it all better, "because you made sure they didn't die. Go team."

"Are you kidding?" Stevie snaps, but then there's a jolt of movement from outside. Stevie reacts in time, curling an arm around Natasha, shield high at her back. They smash through the window with fire billowing behind them, the soles of Stevie's feet smarting with the impact. Stevie rests her head against the shaking wall, exhales slowly.

"Okay, that one was on me," Natasha says weakly, and Stevie kicks up from the floor. She doesn't bother looking at Natasha.

The mission goes smoothly after that, everything locking into place. The hostages are released, the leaders apprehended. Stevie should be triumphant, but she just feels hollow, sit straight backed as the plane whirs beneath them. Natasha is looking straight ahead, but Stevie can sees the imperceptible tremor of her thigh.

"We have debrief, Cap," Natasha says once they're back on solid ground, and Stevie snaps, breaks like a too taut strong.

"Debrief what?" she spits, anger and frustration strangling her words. "I'll go first, right, wouldn't want to hear what you found out. Of course, if I want to know anything I'd have to listen at the damn door. Perhaps an abridge version of the notes some time."

"Stevie - "

"No," Stevie says flatly, "no. We're supposed to be a _team,_ and I can't - can't do this if I can't trust you. Tell Fury if he wants to have a conversation without lying, I'm all ears."

 

 

 

A team, a back up, that connection between the same people is everything to her. She's never had a home, not really. Her parents died, and the orphanage wasn't exactly cosy, and she had Bucky but he - well. Left. And her apartment in Brooklyn, and her apartment here - it doesn't mean anything. Just countless rooms that feel as though they're never ending.

She had the commandos, her brothers, her family, and for the first time she was accepted, not laughed at. And then there was the Avengers, but that's - well, she doesn't know what that is. A cat's cradle with the strings crossed. Bruce went off with Stark, and Thor took his deranged brother off planet. She doesn't even know where Clint is, only Natasha wears an arrow necklace and says nothing else.

And there was Bucky. And he's gone. End of story as Stiles would say.

She just want a _team,_ someone to fight with, someone to fight _for,_ people that are going to _stay._

 

 

 

She goes to the museum, because she finds it ironic.

Also, the museum is quite interesting in Washington. There have giant skeletons of dinosaurs, and exhibits of stuffed animals. Stevie's never seen a polar bear before. They have one in Central Park zoo apparently, but Stevie hasn't been. She remembers the reopening of the zoo in 1934, hand clutched in Bucky's as he dragged her to the new sea lion pool. It had smelt like fish, but Bucky had kept his hand tucked in hers, so she'd suffered through it.

They have a whole section dedicated to Captain America. Stevie had thought she'd been drunk the first time she'd seen it. It's all a bit _embarrassing,_ really.

They have huge, glossy, high definition photos of her, running film reels for some of the propaganda shoots she'd done.  There's even a preserved war bond outfit, fit with tiara and high heels. It makes Stevie cringe just looking at it.

And then there's pictures of Bucky, _everywhere._ There's hundreds of speculation of what they were to each other. There's a memorable reel of an aged Gabe, face linked with wrinkles, claiming they were like, "Two peas in a sugar pod, only not as sweet."

The videos are possibly the worst bit. They look so _real,_ none of the dull edged crackling Stevie remembers. She has to stop herself from reaching out, ruffling Bucky's glossy hair. Her eyes start burning before she can help it.

"Um, ma'am?"

A cool hand touches Stevie's arm, and she flinches before she realises it's just a young, black girl, hair in a messy side braid, amber eyes wide and pleading.

"You're Captain America, aren't you?" the girl whispers. "I almost missed it without the - "

"Skin tight costume and the shield?" The girl giggles, and Stevie glances around. No one else seems to notice anything abnormal; Stevie's in a plain t shirt and jeans, hiding in plain sight essentially.

"Was it cool fighting aliens?" the girl blurts, immediately clasping her hand over her mouth and looking mortified. 

"Um, it was messy," Stevie says honestly. "And scary. But someone had to do it, so."

"That's really brave," the girl breathes, "were you scared? I would be scared. I can barely take a maths test."

"Well, you have a little while to learn how to fight aliens," Stevie smiles, but her stomach twists as soon as the words leave her mouth. She doesn't want to imagine kids at war, not even as a joke. She's seen enough bloodshed. "You stay in the maths classroom for a bit longer, okay?"

"Okay." The girl nods her head fervently. "I promise."

"Okay." Stevie pats her shoulder on instinct, protectiveness curling around her ribs. "I have to go now. Remember what I said about maths."

The little girl freezes, then promptly throws her arms around Stevie. _Stevie_ freezes, unsure what to do with such unbridled affection. In the end she hugs her back, patting her shoulder gently if not awkwardly.

"Bye," the little girl sniffs, pulling back. "My mom is over there, I have to go."

"Bye," Stevie echoes, watching her stumble off. She heads for a women pushing a pushchair, toddler squealing and giggling happily whilst she kicks her feet.

When she leaves, her chest doesn't feel so hollow.


	4. don't lie to me/don't run with wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel quite anxious writing PTSD and war related trauma, because I have never experienced anything like that, so if I have caused any offence or you feel I'm off point, tell me! :)
> 
> Support has been incredible thank you lovelies :)
> 
> Sharon Carter is in this chapter, and I was conflicted about how to go with her. I didn't seen the point in changing her gender (having one gender swap is enough)! But I think it was clear in the film there was meant to be a bit of romance there, so I kept that in. To be honest, changing that seems a bit of a pissbaby thing to do, like what's wrong with Sharon having a crush or feelings for Stevie? It's obviously end game Stucky, but I feel that's because he's Stevie soulmate, and she's blind to anyone else, boy or girl :)
> 
> Also AS IF I'M GOING TO MISS OUT ON THE CHANCE TO HAVE STEVIE AND TASHA SNOG ON THE ELEVATOR *kick arse girlfriends woo*

"What you doing? Recharging?"

Stevie snaps her head up, glinting in the bright morning sun. Sam Wilson is grinning at her, flash of white teeth, muscled arms slick with sweat. Stevie stretches her legs, leaning back against the rough bark of the tree. "Vertical jogging. It's all the range now."

Sam snorts, flopping down next to her. He's close, but he deliberately leaves a couple of inches of space. Stevie appreciates the distance, but part of her cringes at being so obviously damaged. "Must be a 40s thing. Mind if I join?"

"Aren't you already?"

"Yeah, but it's polite to ask."

"But completely redundant if you've already done it," Stevie points out and Sam cackles. He leans back against the tree, and Stevie watches the rise and fall of his chest. She remembers when she could barely stumble down an alley, let alone run the whole of Washington.

"Haven't seen you around recently," Sam comments lightly, taking a long sip of his water. He passes it to Stevie. "You skipping out on me?"

"Just on Mondays and Wednesdays," Stevie replies, letting the cool liquid soothe her throat. She coughs. "I help out at the women's refuge, the one down on sixth avenue?"

"I know it," Sam agrees after a moment. He gives her an appraising look, but Stevie ducks her head, cheeks burning.

She'd thought about helping out at the orphanage, but that was a little too close to home. That being said, it depends who's home you were talking about. Bucky use to whisper to her at night, tell her how his Father used to be a nasty drunk. Smashed bottles. Smashed bones a couple of times. He used to shake in her arms, and she'd just hold him tight and fight the burning in her eyes. At least people _talk_ about it now. In her time, women put up and shut up. Hell, it was normal. And it wasn't like many women would have had somewhere to go if they did try and escape.

"I work at the VA sometimes," Sam says finally, "give talks, help with the therapist sessions. Share my experiences." He does little quote marks around the last part. "We all come back with baggage, right? Got a friend who helps with an animal centre. Say she's feel like she's still helping, that she's not useless. Maybe even that she's making up for something."

"I don't know," Stevie sighs. The words feel heavy, hollow in her chest. "Everything's so different. Not all of it good. If I can do - a little bit. Something I know is helping. I don't feel so lost."

"What about your fancy pick up the other day?" Sam asks, nudging her ankle with his. "Isn't that helping?"

"Don't talk to me about that," Stevie snorts, "I don't know, I thought I could do it. Jump back in, but it's not the same."

"Never is," Sam says sadly, and they both exhale. Sam sits up, leaning on his elbows. "Still, you have a choice now. You don't have to do what they tell. You're an independent woman."

Stevie giggles at that, and Sam lights up. "Look, you can do whatever you want to do now. You thinking of getting out?"

"And do what?"

"Miss America pageant?"

Stevie elbows him the ribs, but Sam just cracks up. "Come on! You'd be a shoo in, I'd vote for you."

"Thanks," Stevie drawls, but her chest feels looser. She tilts her head, feeling the warm sunlight filter through the leaves. Sam's words are playing on loop in her head. "Maybe I'll come to one of those VA meetings."

"Maybe you should," Sam agrees, "want to race?"

"What?" Stevie asks dumbly, but Sam's already up and speeding away. Stevie gives him a full minute's head start, but he's swears like a sailor when she passes him ten seconds later.

 

 

 

Fury calls her in barely a day later. She resists the urge to roll her eyes; it's like the time she and Bucky sneaked out to the pictures, but they got caught and had their knuckles rapped by the head of the orphanage.

He gives her the usual spiel, and she wants to bang her head against a wall. She doesn't even think Fury's a bad; just cold and calculated, but that can be just as dangerous.

And then she sees the ships.

"This - " Her breath catches in her throat, heart beating against her ribs like it's trying to escape. They're _weapons of mass destruction._ It's killing people before they step outside, it's -

\- it's a lot like a planned execution she witnessed years before, when the world was a mess and no one knew how to clean it up.

"This is _wrong,_ " she gasps finally, Fury's dark eyes snapping to hers. "This is - this is punishment before the crime, you're acting like people don't have a _choice."_

"And if you give people a choice, sometimes they choose to _kill you,"_ Fury says flatly, and Stevie thinks she might be sick. "You know, I thought you'd be on board, you fight for freedom - "

"This is _not freedom,"_ Stevie bites out, teeth grinding. "This is _fear."_

"SHIELD takes the world _as it is,"_ Fury argues, "not as we want it to be. I've read those SSR files, you did some pretty - "

"Don't talk to me about what I did," Stevie snarls, rage burning through her, quick and bright like the flick of a lighter, and Fury steps back, flinches even though he clearly tries to hard it. God, she's unravelling.

"We did things that made it hard to sleep. But we did it so people could be free. You might want to check what that constitutes."

"Don't preach to me, Captain." Fury's tone is dangerous, but Stevie only half hears it. It's like she's underwater, everything muted and dull, the world a blur apart from the huge, shining monsters around her. "It's time you get with the programme."

"Don't hold your breath," Stevie sighs, weary to her bones, turns on her heel and leaves.

 

 

 

"Are you okay?"

Stevie startles at the soft, lilting voice. Her stance changes immediately, muscles coiling, before she relaxes. It's the woman who lives across from her, a nurse - she's in pink scrubs - and with shorter blond curls than Stevie's.

"Er, long day," Stevie answers slowly, flushing. She'd been staring at the elevator, lost in thought. She'd only been in one a handful of times back then, mainly at swanky military events.

They'd had someone to operate them, often times a pretty girl in a smart uniform, pressing the buttons. Ride the elevator all day long like a cage, trapped behind the metal frame for hours.

It always hits her after long days like this. Fury's plans had buzzed in her head all day; she's never been the best at compartmentalising, and she feels as though she has the weight of a thousand souls on her shoulders. It's just all so _distorted;_ she's heard senators call _Tony_ a terrorist before, where do you draw the line?

She hadn't slept well - this time it's nightmares of the ice. She doesn't like thinking about it; at the worst times the press of a cold water bottle can make her whole body judder.

(She's scared she's falling apart. She wants to go _home_.)

Before you know it she's gazing at an elevator and waltzing with the past.

"Same," the other woman says - Sharon, Stevie thinks. "Had a long shift at the hospital, not the highlight of my week. Still got my washing to do."

That coaxes a smile out of Stevie. "I've got a load to do as well, I better head down to the laundry."

"Do you, um." A candy pink blush spreads across Sharon's cheek, hesitating where her key hovers near the lock. "Would you like to do it at mine?"

Stevie's taken aback, surprise curling in her ribs. "Um, what would it cost?"

Sharon beams. "Cup of coffee?"

Stevie hesitates, then nods. Sharon's flat is bare, almost corporate. She can't have been living there long; she can't see any photos or personal touches. She sits at Sharon's tiny table, lets the rich coffee soothe her nerves a fraction.

"How are you settling in?" Sharon asks after chatting for a while. She pushes a lock of hair over her shoulder, blue eyes piercing. Her hands curve around her own mug. "Do you like it here?"

"It's nice," Stevie says honestly, "new is good, I like new."

"You come from New York, right?"

"Did they accent give it away?" Stevie teases. She swears she sees Sharon flinch, body tensing, but she blinks and the stiffness is gone. Huh.

"Yeah, that was it," Sharon says easily, taking the last sip of her cup and putting it down. Stevie fidgets, then offers to wash them out for her.

Sharon blinks, then wordlessly pushes her cup over to her. "Thanks," Stevie smiles, flashing her a smile. Sharon swallows. Flushes. Stevie frowns. "Are you okay?"

"Just a bit hot," Sharon mumbles, ducking her head. "So, you go running every morning, right?"

"I try to," Stevie admits sheepishly, "sorry, am I waking you up in the morning?"

Stevie swears she hears Sharon mutter something like 'I wish,' but when she glances up Sharon is leant over the washing machine, adjusting the settings. "No, it's fine. I was just going to offer to come with sometime, I like to keep fit."

"Oh, really?" Stevie beams at her, flipping a lock over her shoulder. It's nice to have someone new to talk to, to sit her and have coffee while she waits for her washing to be done. Makes her feel normal.

"Got to stay healthy with the job," Sharon shrugs, lips curving into a coy smile. "I'm constantly rushed off my feet, got to stay on top."

"I bet," Stevie laughs. She finishes drying the mugs, opening the little cupboard and tucking them away. "I think my washing's done, I'll get out of your hair."

"It's not trouble," Sharon assures her, and she sounds sincere. Stevie defers anyway, gathering her clean washing and placing it in her basket. Sharon helps her, their hands brushing.

"Thanks again," Stevie says politely. Sharon smiles her, and then Stevie nudges the door shut with her hip. She places the key in her own door, sighing.

The smell of fabric softener fills the air. The silence is horrible.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully that wasn't shit? Sorry for the rush, I'm trying to keep it different from the film, so I have to skip the boring bit.
> 
> I really want to incorporate Sharon more into this, especially later. I'm trying to get across she's doing her job - so asking all those questions so she can feed info to SHIELD - but contradicted by the fact she genuinely likes Stevie (maybe even likes her as something more).
> 
> Gosh, I'm so scared I'm making her look like a redundant character! Thoughts would be awesome :)
> 
> REBLOG THE TUMBLR LINK IT'S IN THE NOTES


	5. starting to get broken in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first up: Add link: [go check this out because it's sick](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MJ2RdEEOSyg) I might have a little link for a video or song that matches the chapter from now, what do you guys think? 
> 
> Secondly: [reblog this please](http://ariadneodair.tumblr.com/post/111553083487/im-waking-up-to-ash-and-dust-25k-you-might-want) you cuties :D
> 
> I didn't originally want Dianna Agron as my Stevie, but this sassy face she makes JUST LOL :D
> 
> Okay so personal shit and fic notes at the end, enjoy lovelies!

Stevie wakes with a scream on her lips, mouthing a howl that gets caught in her throat. All she can feel is _ice,_ speared through her chest, water filling her lungs, the dull pain of _cold cold cold._

It's instinct to pull on her sneakers, slide out of bed and grab her running gear. If she was more philosophical, she'd question her response to run from nightmares, but it's too early and she'd like to quiet the throbbing in her head, if at all possible.

The key opens in the lock with a _snick,_ and then Stevie is gazing at the long hall in front of her. She leans against the door jam, the wood cool against her skin, and just _breathes._

"Stevie?"

Her head snaps up, but it's only Sharon, eyes wide and the colour of summer skies. "Are you okay?"

"Sorry, was just going for a run," Stevie mumbles, shuffling her feet. Her head still feels woozy.

Sharon cocks her head to one side, like a clever, pretty bird, and then she nods decisively. "Right, I'll come with you."

"Oh my gosh, no, you don't have to!" Stevie's cheeks burn, the words tripping off her tongue. "I'm sorry for waking you up - " She _hates_ being a burden, hates it.

"Stevie, shut up," Sharon orders gently. She slips back into her flat, and when she returns, she's in running gear, tight pants and a sports bra, hair pulled up into a curly ponytail.

"Come on," Sharon coaxes gently, and Stevie feels a smile curve at her lips.

It's a little awkward at first, Stevie having to slow down surreptitiously for Sharon's slower gait. Sam knew who she was from his military ties; Stevie has no idea if Sharon knows what Captain America looks like without a mask.

"Do you want to listen to my music?" Sharon offers, so they share an ear bud, arms pressed together, until they come to a halt.

 "Do you always run this early?" Sharon asks, chest rising and falling. She reaches down, grabbing her quad and stretching it. "We could do this more often."

"I like running in the morning," Stevie shrugs, doing her own stretching. The sun has risen by now, dappling off the grass and shining off the water. "It means you have more time to get things done in the rest of the day."

"Of course you would say that," Sharon murmurs fondly. Stevie ducks her head sheepishly, rolling her eyes. The sun is warm at her back, and she can feel this ice begin to thaw.

"Stevie, would you - " Sharon begins, tone soft, but then a glint of red catches Stevie's eye.

Natasha strolls up to her with the grace of a lazy cat, delicate steps as her jade eyes glint. Her eyes flick to Sharon, then she does a double take. Stevie glances at Sharon, confused, but Sharon is unscrewing her water bottle deliberately not looking at her.

"Stevie, you have a new running partner," Natasha says, pleasantly enough, though that's always a warning sign with Natasha. "What happened to the old model?"

"You applying for the role?" Stevie asks, nicely enough. Natasha's lips twitch.

"I think I'll pass," Natasha shrugs, "but I'll borrow you for a moment, if that's okay."

"I'll see you in a moment?" Stevie says quietly to Sharon, and she nods, tight lipped. It makes Stevie feel queasy as she wanders over to a quieter spot.

"Is she your neighbour?" Natasha asks curiously, tipping her head to the side. "I swear I've seen her before."

"Yes." Stevie shuffles her feet, uncapping her bottle and taking a long drag. "What do you want, Tash?"

Natasha's face pinches imperceptibly, tiny lines tightening around her eyes. "Look, I know your angry about the last mission - "

"Just cut to the point, please." Her tone is quiet; her head is starting to throb again. She feels as if she's being a bit harsh, but it's because she _likes_ Tasha. It's hard to trust someone that keeps screwing her over.

"Fine. You need to be - careful."

Stevie snorts. "What, in case the mob come for me? Going to carve me up?"

"Hilarious." Natasha gives her a look that could freeze a thousand suns. "I think something's going on at _SHIELD._ Fury's on edge, Pierce is sliming around. Something's not - right."

A shadow crosses her face, eyes darkening. It's unnerving to see Natasha on edge, jarring. "I've already talked to Hill, she agrees. Something's building, Stevie, I can't - "

She breaks off, and there's true fear in her eyes, harsh and unfailing. Stevie reaches out instinctively, curves a hand around and squeezes gently.

"I wouldn't come to you unless it was serious," Natasha murmurs, one hand clasps her arrow necklace like it's a cross. "I've done this for a long time, I can tell when something's off. Stevie, just - be _careful."_

"I'm always careful," Stevie shrugs, because it's half true, but Natasha is still looking at her with intense eyes. Apprehension begins to stir in her blood, nerves jangling. This close, she can see the dark hues under Natasha's eyes, the smudge of purple that she's obviously gone to efforts to cover up. "Tash, what - "

"Have fun with your run," Natasha cuts in, stepping back. Stevie can practically see the walls going back up, Natasha's eyes shuttered. "She likes you, you know."

Stevie frowns at her, but she's already turned on her heel and walked away. Stevie rolls her shoulders, shivering, then jogs back to Sharon. She's watching her with steady eyes, stretching her thighs to keep warmed up. "Everything okay?"

"Just a friend," Stevie shrugs, running her hand through her hair. "You ready to go again?"

 

 

 

 

 

"Thanks, I needed that."

Sharon smiles indulgently at her, shaking her head. "I told you it's fine. We should do it again." She frowns, eyes flitting to Stevie's door. "Hey, did you leave your stereo on?"

Stevie glances down the hall. Now she's mentioned it, she can hear the soft lilt of music. Her whole body tenses; she didn't leave her music on, she knows she doesn't.

Which is exactly when she assures Sharon she did, with a polite smile and a thanks for the run. Then she climbs up the fire escape and slides in the side window, shield in her hand and body ready to _fight._

She slips through carefully, crouching so less force hits the ground each time she moves. She stops just before her bookcase, inhales, then rounds the corner, shield raised -

\- only to stop when she sees Nick Fury lounging in her favourite chair, looking for all the world like he owns it.

Stevie opens her mouth to - well, to swear most likely, but Fury holds up one hand, silencing her. Ever so carefully, he holds up a phone and Stevie peers at the letters on the screen.

_bugs everywhere. not safe._

Fantastic.

"My wife kicked me out," Fury drawls, "I needed a place to crash."

"I didn't know you had a wife."

 "It's something only my close friends know."

_shield is compromised. not sure how many are corrupt_

The words are like a punch to her stomach, despite Natasha's words or warning. She was right, Stevie thinks grimly, so what do we do now?"

"So what - " Stevie begins, and then the wall _explodes._

Stevie flies across the room, head cracking on the corner of her table. Her ear drums are _screaming,_ relentless noise, ringing and ringing and ringing. She forces her eyes open, corners streaming at the ash and dust.

She coughs, chest burning. Her blood freezes when she sees Fury lying still, spread out on the floor. There's a huge red flower blossoming on his chest.

"Fury?" She crawls over to him, places one hand on his chest. Her fingers don't do much to stop the flow; the blood is hot and thick and it _smells,_ like iron, like salt, like _death -_

Then there's a hand pushing at hers, insistent. Her hands curl around a small device - a memory stick? - and her eyes fly to Fury's. They're heavy lidded, eyelashes fluttering. "Don't trust anyone," he chokes, and his whole body _shudders._

"Captain Rogers?" Stevie's eyes widen when she realises it's _Sharon,_ gun in hand, hip cocked. "I'm Agent 13, I was sent to monitor you - _Director Fury!"_

There's blood on her hands, blood that isn't hers. It's trickling down the side of her head as well, from cracking it into the wall, hot and wet. Nick's gone, and Sharon's lied and something in Stevie just - _snaps._

Sharon's speaking into a walkie talkie now, saying something about having a twenty on the shooter, and there's a glint of something and Stevie looks up _and there's someone standing on the roof opposite them._

"I'm going after whoever shot my damn wall in," she snarls, and then she's up and running.

Jumping out the window is probably stupid, but she doesn't even feel it, not the glass scraping her, not the impact as she crashes into the wall, not the smack of her feet as she jumps.

The shooter's running above them, distorted by the glass panels above her. His figure is blurred, edges sloppy and there's that _glint_ again. It might have a weapon attached to his arm, she notes, and then she's crashing through the final window.

Throwing the shield is instinctive, slamming it forward, confident in her shield if in anything, and it's flying and -

\- the shooter catches it, catches it with one hand, and Stevie just _collapses._ Her legs buckle in shock, physically shake, and those _eyes,_ shattered, furious, rocking her to the core -

\- it's instinct that catches the shield when he throws it back. When _it_ throws it back, because Stevie's just started playing with monsters. The demon jumps and Stevie falls.

Her legs slide out beneath her, hand cut from the edge of her returned weapon. She closes her eyes and dry heaves, retching though nothing comes out. Her hands ball instinctively, eyes squeezing shut, and the smell of blood is overpowering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AIIII DRAMA :D 
> 
> Okay I hope to have more variation from the canon from now on :D Next chapter we have STEVIE AND TASHA KISSINGGG AIIII - CONFESSIONS ABOUT PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS - POSSIBLY STEVIE AND BUCKY MEETING :D
> 
> Definitely going to try and have longer chapters from now on, like 3k at least, so sorry for the current shortness!
> 
> GUYSSS PLEASE LEAVE KUDOS IF THIS COULD GET TO 300 I WOULD CRY HAPPILY!!!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um hiiii um I can't promise anything or say anything but I hope you like this chapter!!

Stevie hates hospitals.

She was in one too many as a child; the harsh smell of disinfectant, the squeak of wheels on the floor. The screaming. The _crying._ Her Ma had been a nurse, of course, but that wasn't much of a comfort. She remembers cool hands on her forehead, then the stinging pain of an injection.

Nick Fury is lying on a operating table. He looks old, tight lines around his mouth. His eye patch is off, and for the first time she can see the tangled mess of scars. They're using some kind of electricity to revive him, and Stevie fights a bubble of hysteria that suggests they could call Thor to help.

Natasha is barely moving beside her. Stevie's not even sure if she's breathing. Maria Hill is standing next to her, mouth drawn into a tight line. Stevie swallows, fights down the bile in her throat, and turns to her left. "Do you know who did this?"

She jumps when Natasha is the one who answers. "A ghost." Her lips barely move.

Stevie shuffles. "Uh. He was fast for a ghost. And strong. He had a metal - a metal arm."

A shudder racks through Natasha's body, almost imperceptible unless you were looking. When Stevie glances at her, her own face has drained of colour. "Tash - "

"Ballistics," Natasha snaps, like she can't even hear.

"Three slugs. No rifling. Completely untraceable," Maria answers, resting her forehead against the glass.

"Soviet made," Natasha murmurs, and Maria glances at her in surprise.

"How did you know?"

Natasha doesn't answer. Nick Fury doesn't wake up. Stevie flips the memory stick around and around in her hands, like it's just a toy and this is all a game.

 

- 

 

Rumlow drags her back to SHIELD. She doesn't want to go, wants to stay with Natasha, but he's insistent. If she'd thought about, she'd have realised something was wrong there, but her mind is too full of electricity and flashing lights and tear tracks on pale cheeks.

Alexander Pierce calls her to his office. He asks her questions about Fury, which she answers in monosyllables. Her head snaps when he reveals Nick may have had something to do with the pirates.

"If you knew Nick Fury, you know that wasn't true," she answers flatly, gratified when Pierce nods. She didn't agree with Fury on a lot of things, but this - this can't be true.

Pierce stands, walks to the window, and something's - something's off. The slow realisation drips through her veins like poison, slow and toxic. Maybe it's the way Pierce is tapping his fingers against his thigh. The speech is just _that_ rehearsed, and maybe he's just a showy fella but - this is _wrong._

"I'll stop anyone who gets in my way," Pierce booms, and it's easy to lie to him then.

She pads to the elevator, lost in thought. She barely notices Rumlow stepping in, nodding when he starts a conversation. More and more guys in at different floors, and Stevie moves forward, shuffles a bit.

There's a beep as the door opens for the fourth time and - _oh. Oh._

And she knows what this is.

"Well, fellas," Stevie starts, and it cracks through the air like a whip. "Which of you is too scared to hit a girl?"

 The moment shivers in the light, and then everything happens at once. One guys swings for her and she ducks easily, kicking him in the knee. He crumples like a pack of cards, but then her wrist is being twisted, one guy lunging for her neck.

They've got these damn metallic cuff things, and Stevie screams as it yanks her hand back. She kicks a guy in the face, then another in the sternum, and rips her hand forward. Everything blurs, and then there's only her and Rumlow.

He's sweating, electricity crackling in her hand. "Got to say, Cap, you always looked real good in the costume. Clings to all the right places, you know - "

Stevie kicks him in the jaw, and doesn't feel guilty when she hears a crack. Her goes down like a sack of potatoes, and she inhales heavily. "Jerk," she spits, then gives him an extra kick for Maria Hill.

The door pings open, making her startle. She jumps, and then slashes the cables of the elevator. It goes down, down, down, stomach churning and she pinches her arm, twists the skin hard.

She has to get _out, right now,_ otherwise she's going to be bleeding out on a table like Fury. The overhead speakers are telling her she's trapped, to surrender, but there was never an option.

She glances at the window, and all the blood in her body freezes. She's transported back to an old army barrack, air thick with dust and mud, laughing brown eyes, as a voice asks, _"You jumped out of a plane? Jesus, Rogers, I can't take you anywhere."_

"Sorry, Buck," she murmurs, and throws herself out of the window.

 

 

-

 

 

Going back to the hospital is a given. What's not so expected, is Natasha's reflection in the vending machine. Or maybe it is; as if Natasha would know all about this.

She shoves Natasha back against the wall, harder than she means to. Natasha exhales heavily, raising an eyebrow. "Captain, that is no way to treat a lady."

"Where is it?" Stevie snaps. Natasha only smirks, which makes her blood boil. "I am just done pulling glass out of my abdomen, I am not in the mood for names, Romanov."

"Oh, last names, you must be angry," Natasha laughs, and Stevie shoves her again. She feels awful, but the guilt only swirls with apprehension in her stomach, her muscles still trembling from the fall. "Ouch, stop it. We're not all super soldiers."

"Where is it?" Stevie demands. "And I know you know the ship was dirty, that Fury hired the pirates."

"Well, yeah," Natasha drawls, and it's only the flash of guilt at Fury's name that stops her from screaming. Natasha must see the anger in her voice, because she chews her bottom lip. "Wait - I know who killed Fury."

Stevie blinks. "The ghost?"

"Most of the intelligence community don't think he exists. Those who do call him the Winter Soldier."

"Fancy."

"Yeah, I'm sure he's very proud. Look, I've seen him. I was protecting a Soviet diplomat. Someone shoots out our tyres near Odessa. We go straight over the edge of a cliff. I pull us back in, but the Winter Soldier was there. He shot at the diplomat. Straight through me."

She lifts her shirt, and Stevie stares at the bullet wound, the knot of red skin. God. Natasha meets her eyes. "Soviet slug. No rifling. Bye bye bikinis."

Stevie snorts. "Damn. Well that joint modelling career is out, then. We would have looked so good on the cover of Vogue."

"Ask Barton to fill in."

"Nah. Thor's got the body."

They both laugh, the sound soft and foreign between them. Stevie sobers up quickly, glancing behind her. "So what now? We find the ghost?"

"We find what the ghost wants," Natasha answers, and hands Stevie the memory stick.

They head for a mall, but only after Natasha makes Stevie change into, "Clothes, that don't make you look like a grandma, god, Rogers."

"These jeans are too tight," Stevie mumbles, glancing around nervously. The mass of people makes her feel worse; it's a cover, yes, but it's also an added distraction from any SHIELD agents that are lurking around.

"What, worried they make your butt look big?" Natasha teases, then frowns when Stevie looks at her blankly. "It's a joke, don't worry. Come on."

They head for a row of computers, Natasha's fingers flying over the keys. "Okay, we have about nine minutes when I put this is. By then, SHIELD will have been able to trace it and track us done."

"Okay." She glances around nervously, eyes peering into the crowd. Her muscles haven't stop trembling, nerves been plucked like guitar strings. "Okay."

"There are coordinates," Natasha murmurs, eyes fixed on the screen. "I - "

"Hi, can I help you?" a friendly voice asks, and Stevie just refrains from dropping into a crouch.

"I - "

"Me and my fiancée are looking at honeymoon destinations," Natasha beams, flinging an arm around her neck.

Stevie chokes. "We are? Wait - we can get married?"

"Yes, honey," Natasha hisses, fluttering her eyes at the salesman. "She's such a joker."

The man's jaw is hanging open, but he shuts if with a snap when Stevie looks at her. "Hey, that's great, that you - that you can. I mean I have two uncles so, plus who wouldn't - "

Natasha smacks a kiss on Stevie's cheek. The salesman looks as though he's going to wet himself. "Uh. Anyway, great for you. Where you thinking of going?"

Stevie glances at the screen. "Um. New Jersey."

"Great," the salesman repeats, "have a great time. I'll - bye." He wanders off, smacking into a table.

Stevie stares at Natasha. "Two girls can get married now?"

Natasha doesn't even look at her, wrinkling her nose. "What? Uh, yes. Gay marriage is legal now. In some places. We're a bit backward, to be fair."

"Oh." Stevie is about to ask her more, when Natasha whistles lowly. "You found something?"

Natasha zooms into the picture, clever fingers manipulating the image. "You recognise that?"

Stevie blinks. Then blinks again. "Shit. That's - that's my old army base."

Natasha, predictably, doesn't react. "Huh. Gay and a dirty mouth."

"Not that it's any of your business," Stevie says through gritted teeth, "but I think it'd be bisexual as it is. You've got everything you need?"

With all credit to Natasha, she only does a minute double take. Stevie smirks anyway. Natasha pulls out the device and tucks into her jacket pocket. They wind their way through the mall, heads down. It feels a bit like walking through landmines; Stevie's eyes dart around nervously, taking everything in. Natasha is rigid next to her, but Stevie knows she's taking everything in too.

They're on the elevators when Stevie stops them; there's a man on the elevator opposite them, trying way too hard to be casual. She feels her heart kick in her chest a little. and she makes sure her voice is low. "Natasha."

Natasha turns to face her. "Kiss me."

"What?"

"Same sex couples make people uncomfortable."

"What - " Stevie begins, and then Natasha's kissing her. Stevie doesn't really know what to _do_ ; Natasha's mouth is cool and soft on hers, and she lets her arms slide around Natasha's waist. Her pulse speeds up a little and she lets her eyes drift close instinctively.

Natasha waits a few seconds before she pulls back, makes completely sure that the man has passed. When she pulls back Stevie's lips feel bruised, and Natasha is looking at her in a way that makes Stevie feels like every layer she has is being pulled back.

"Not bad," Stevie shrugs, and the grin Natasha gives her is blinding.

 

-

 

(It's a good kiss and Stevie hasn't really - thought - about the, the bisexuality thing but. It's not Bucky. It wouldn't matter if it was a guy or a gal - it's not Bucky.)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Here is [the link](http://ariadneodair.tumblr.com/post/110441179707/just-a-girl-from-brooklyn-bucky-thinks-that-she#notes) on tumblr!
> 
> It would be hella cool if you reblogged it, but like, do what you want dude :D


End file.
